Road Trip, WWE Style
by Pandac9204
Summary: It's a road trip a group of friends will never forget this summer. For some, the last thing they'll ever remember. Hope you all brought your cameras; we're in for one hell of a ride.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this fan fiction, sadly. Only the plot is mine.

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Chapter 1: We're Here

**"I hear voices in my head,**

**They council me,**

**They understand,**

**They -"** "SHUT UP!"

"Dude, the fuck is your problem?" A viper glare crept on the face of one Randy Orton, who turned his head slightly toward his annoyed passenger. He was having the time of his life, finally getting his mind off the miles of road ahead of them, only for it to be spoiled by belated bitching. John Cena, after using every bulging muscle in his arm to practically break the power button on the radio, thrust his face into Randy's with full intent of giving him a piece of his mind.

"Hm, let's see! We've been on the road for three hours straight, listenin' to you bump and holler your _shit_ on full volume like you're at a damned concert! What the hell happened to sharing the radio?"

"Well," Randy informed, slowly, venom on his tongue, "after experiencing what you guys call music, I felt compelled to enlighten you all with real music. Besides, that crap you call rap can't even be put into the same category. If you want to listen to some guy talk about their lives, go join some therapy group session."

Cena growled low at the driver's tone, his meaty fingers curling into a tight fist. He promised his friends he'd tolerate Randy's presence on this trip, ignoring his snide remarks and brushing of his arrogant behavior were easy tasks, but the one thing he hated, most of all, was being taken for an idiot. "Oh, so your tastes are better than ours, huh? Alright then, bub, turn back on the radio. Listen to your shit. See what I'll do next!" He leaned out of his seat, too cool for a seatbelt, fist raised, "I DARE YA! TURN IT ON AND WATCH ME POUND YOUR FACE IN!"

"Oh my God! Matt, make it stop!" Jeff Hardy drawled, rubbing his pounding temples. He was so frustrated with how things were turning out, and they haven't even made it to the camp site yet! Was it so difficult to enjoy a calm, peaceful road trip with minimal conversations. Fuck, he may be crazy in his own right, but even he needed a little quiet. And what surprised Jeff the most was how little his brother was reacting to the mess in front of them. Throughout the whole ride Matthew Hardy had done little more than take out his Ipod, plug up his ears, and close his eyes. Presently, Matt had abandoned his Ipod - the ruckus around him proving too much of a distraction from his tunes - for staring out the window. Ignoring everything. Even Jeff. 'Probably still mad about my clothes,' the younger brother pouted, 'Seriously, what's the big deal? He should know that fishnets are killer on me. At least I brought a few tank-tops.'

Just as Jeff concluded, Matt was indeed mad. Well, more like totally ticked off. He should've known better than to believe Jeff had listened to him and not brought _those_ clothes with him for the trip. Those vulgar fishnet tops and surprisingly alluring cargo pants, all added to Jeff's rockin' bod and sexy blue hair made for a dangerous package. And considering how a majority of the people on this trip were hot-blooded males, a big brother can only worry so much. The crazy Hardy was no twink, thank God for that, but he was nowhere near the level of a dom. Not bulging with muscle, but built like a ripped model. And he's sexy as hell! Not even the girls could compete with him! And this made Matt anxious. Alert. 'And stressed out.'

Anyone can easily point out what made these two so different from each other, personal tastes regardless. From birth the Hardy boys were like yin and yang; whereas little Matt inherited his mother's dark, lushly curled hair, baby Jeff popped out with his father's striking blonde. His green eyes made a forest for Matt's deep browns. Both are the same height and have the same parents (contrary to what most people believe), but that's where the similarities end. Although both have bodies built for wrestling, Matt's bigger, more muscular frame made him outshine his younger brother in most athletic activities. While Matt has no piercing whatsoever, Jeff has five, or so Matt's seen. One in each ear, one in his tongue, another in his bottom lip, and a belly pierce. However, considering how it's Jeff, it wouldn't be surprising if he did have another piercing. Matt learned to accept, and in some cases approve, all the striking traits that made his brother so different from society. 'All except those damned hooker uniforms he calls clothes,' Matt scrunched up his face in disgust.

The arguing in front escalated as Phil Brooks' cell phone screeched a Killswitch Engaged song, an incoming call from Maria, one of the few girls brave enough to come with them. In one quick move the phone was flipped open and on his ear, his free hand blocking out most of the noise inside the crowded Ferrari.

"Hey Maria. What's up?" His once friendly voice was now strained.

"Sit your ass down and put on your seatbelt, Cena! You're going to get me a fuckin' ticket!"

"Screw getting a ticket! We're FORTY-FIVE FUCKING MILES from the nearest city, damnit!"

"If you don't SHUT THE FUCK UP AND PUT ON YOUR SEATBELT, I'M STOPPING THE CAR!"

"Um, hey, guys? Can you please chill for a s-" "THEN GO AHEAD AND STOP THE FUCKING CAR, ORTON! IT'S NOT LIKE YOU KNOW HOW TO DRIVE IT ANYWAY!"

"Come on guys. Calm down. Jeff has a headac-" "YOU WANT ME TO KICK YOUR ASS SO MUCH? FINE! I'M PULLING OVER! YOU'D BETTER HOPE THOSE FAT MUSCLES AREN'T JUST FOR SHOW!"

"WHAT THE-" "**WILL YOU ALL SHUT THE **_**FUCK**_** UP**?"

Phil's red face was steely with agitation by the time everyone looked at him, a hand combing through his loose black hair. His cell was held in a shaking, bone-crushing grip, proof of his boiling anger. Everyone knew Phil as a laid back kind of guy, much preferring to laugh off a prank and join in than fuss over it. Therefore, having known him for years, the four friends with him were a little shocked by his outburst. His drawn, scowling face finally tipped Randy and John to shut their hung mouths entirely. The Hardy brothers were embracing the moment for all it was worth, holding in their thanks until Phil calmed down. Needless to say, the moment of peace was short-lived. Pocketing his phone back into his shorts, Phil pointed out toward the road ahead, where stationary cars were approaching fast. "We're here."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: New Catch

Put two hot-headed egomaniacs in a confined space for a prolonged amount of time, and what do you get? A pissed off and bloodthirsty blonde.

Michelle McCool never really wanted to go on this trip, having initially bought one-way plane tickets to Miami for her boyfriend and herself. Constant nagging from her girl friends, however, made her resort to giving those 'tickets to paradise' to her parents. Although, she was very reluctant to give almost three thousand dollars worth of paradise up, and all for some hillbilly trip to nowhere! Over and over Michelle would demand where exactly they were going, and time and time again Layla, Maria or even Trish would wave her off, yapping crap like "the destination was not nearly as important as the journey to it". _Bull. Shit. _Miami's sunny beaches and booming malls were what she craved, not one of those cheesy journeys to self-enlightenment. She'll leave those to the guys. Speaking of which, who was the idiot that came up with this idea?

"When I find him, I'll kill him," She murmured to herself while surveying her wrecked car.

It all happened too fast after she met up with the M&M group in the rendezvous point, having all decided to stick together after reaching the outskirts of the last city. Once Randy's ride was spotted, Maria, in all her excitement, hopped out of the car and began waving him down like some high cheerleader. Of course, the driver took no notice of her, nor the road, for that matter. He was too busy spitting in Cena's face to notice the closing gap between him and Michelle's car, nor see Dave Bautista grab Maria out of harm's way. Only at the last second did Randy pull his attention back o the road ahead, or lack-there-of.

Then, disaster.

The sleek black Ferrari slammed into her Porsche convertible, with her in it! The impact was headlong, crushing her bumper and bending her hood nearly in half with the force of the collision. The squeal of stalled breaks did nothing to drown Michelle's shriek of agony; she was uninjured, but the damage done to her car more than made up for it.

"Shit! _Shit!_" She exclaimed, throwing her car door open and stumbling to the destroyed parts.

"Oh man…" Eve breathed, taking in the scene, "there goes my ride." Strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her onto hard pecs and 'master-locking' her into place. "You're ridin' with me, remember?" Chris Masters' warm breath tickled her ear, sending her into a giggling fit. Dolph Ziggler practically gagged at the sight, absolutely regretting getting out of Chris' Ford Mustang.

"Great. Look what you did now, Orton! Nice _**fuckin'**_ driving, by the way! Looks like someone's getting a lawsuit!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP CENA! IT'S MY CAR, DAMN IT; THE FUCK ARE YOU BITCHIN' FOR?"

"I'm outta here." Jeff cut in, making a hasty escape out of the car. Matt followed, racing straight to his girlfriend's side. "Michelle! Are you alright, baby?"

"No! LOOK AT MY CAR! IT'S RUINED!" She was a mess: red-faced, tears, and acid dripping from her lips. "I should've kept those tickets! Should've never came here! Should've…Should've…Damn it! Damn it all!"

Randy slid out of his seat slowly, not eager to face the blonde's spitting rage so early in the morning. John was already out of the vehicle, having gone over to Dave to stretch out his muscles, so he had a little time to himself. His car wasn't nearly as busted as Michelle's, and sustained only a scratched and dented bumper. No one was injured either, so maybe she'll find it in her heart to let this go for a little cash?

"GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE, ORTON! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" He sighed, 'Or not'.

Trish Stratus was not the type of girl to make things overly dramatic, or take things to the extreme. Seeing Michelle lose her cool now made Trish extremely pleased with herself. Truth be told, the crash wasn't nearly as bad as everyone's claiming it to be. Michelle didn't even have her seatbelt on when she was hit, and seeing her unscathed was all that mattered. The impact itself wasn't even bad thanks to the angle of the collision. So her hood's bent in half and her bumper practically totaled; big whopping deal. At least her engine wasn't crushed. Really, some people take things to the extreme. Speaking of extreme-

"Gotcha!" Arms wrapped around her middle from behind, hoisting her up and spinning her around for good measure. "Jeff!" She laughed, gripping his arms tight. "What? You miss me already?" "Of course! Bein' cooped up in a car full of testosterone for so long is torture. I want to ride with you when we head home." Jeff teased, his famous drawl sprouting butterflies in her stomach. He gave her a sweet little kiss on the cheek and tugged her around, hugging her properly. "Where's your man at? Don't tell me he had better things to do." He tilted his head and arched a brow like the inquisitive little pup he was.

"That's right, I never did get to tell you before all of this. Dwain and I broke it off. Don't give me that look. You know how it is for him: too much time from home, and too much women to ignore. He was never good with commitment anyway." She lightly slapped his frowning face, giving a small smile of her own, "Hey, be glad. Now I can focus on being Mrs. Hardy, sugar." The beaming smile he gave her brightened her dull mood, "Good. He wasn't worth your time anyway. Besides, Trish Hardy sounds much better than Trish Johnson."

"Getting married already, Hardy-boy? Aren't you, what, 12?" Dave snagged him from Trish's arms and into his own, squeezing the sense out of him with his impressive built. "And what about our plans for the future? You thinking of a threesome?" Jeff wiggled in his hold, playing the victim, "Trish! Help! I'm about to be raped by the god of steroids!"

The beast of a man gave a snort, letting the young Hardy go with a warning smack to his rear. "Better be thankful it's daylight out, or I would've taken you to the woods while everyone was asleep." His hand, Trish noticed, never left Jeff's bottom. His sexual orientation hit her hard. 'I have to compete with _Batista_ of all people? I have my work cut out for me,' she frowned.

Said Hardy laughed, "Villains aren't supposed to expose their plan until after they've done it! And what the hell are you talkin' 'bout? I'm 21, ya bastard! Legal in every way!" He immediately regretted his last few words as Dave began to leer at his body.

"Legal in _every way_, eh?" "Pervert."

Layla, who silently followed Dave over, snarled at the open affection Dave gave to the other man. 'He's supposed to be flirting with me. I'm a woman, for crying out loud!' she seethed, watching with open jealousy as Jeff became Dave's center of attention. She'd been aiming for Dave since the day Jeff introduced him to her, though that day Dave took no notice of her, seeming to focus solely on the way Jeff's lips moved. That was 6 months ago, and here she was now. Still chasing. It was supposed to be simple; she was a cheerleader for a famous football team, and she was at her prime shape. Every guy she's met before had told her how hot she was, yet a hunk like Dave doesn't even give her a second glance. Cena came over, effectively ruining her mood with his obnoxious behavior.

"Did I hear you say threesome? I hope I'm included.." He perched an elbow on Dave's meaty shoulder, wagging his brows at a scarlet Jeff.

Trish gapped, "What's this? Jeff Appreciation Day? I didn't know you guys even swung that way-" John frantically waved his hands, cutting her off, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! _I'm_ not gay, honey. Jeff's just a …" he smirked, "special case. But I'm not alone in this one. Even Randy feels the same."

"Okay, enough about me. What about you guys? Especially you," Jeff directed toward Cena, quickly grappling him in a headlock, "What happened in the car? I thought you promised me to be nice 'round Randy, just this once?"

Layla immediately took the empty spot by Dave's side as the rough housing continued. Jeff noticed this, but said nothing. He was not as clueless as everyone thought, and knew when someone was infatuated. So, for now, he will root for Layla, and hope Dave acknowledges her attraction to him. Meanwhile, John was experiencing what most people call "sweet death", slowly losing oxygen while being surrounded by Jeff's scent. It took a moment for him to pull himself together enough to turn the tables, pulling the blue-blonde sprite into a light, but sturdy hold of his own. "Gimme a break, sweetheart! You saw how he was! He was aiming to piss me off since before we started on the road. You can't say I didn't try. I just couldn't sit still while he howled his shit and poked fun at me. Anyway, you knew we were never on good terms to begin with."

"But that still doesn't excuse you from what happened to Michelle's car!" Jeff tugged, freeing himself and shooting John an accusing look. "And don't start that 'but why am I the only one getting punished' crap. Randy will get his, believe that. You BOTH made me a promise you didn't keep."

"…Well, since everyone's here, we may as well hit the road and kill some miles while we're all…hyper." Phil suggested slowly, thinking he had stumbled on one of Jeff's _moments_ in his late arrival. He had been busy consoling Maria through the shock of almost getting hit by a car when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and that nagging sensation of being watched stilled his movement. A quick glance around had done nothing to quell his apprehension, because regardless of the few dry hills and endless, open strip of road ahead, Phil couldn't get that claustrophobic feeling to go away. Something - maybe someone? - was watching him and Maria, and was close by. Call him paranoid, but Phil wasn't taking any chances, not when Maria or his close friends were at stake. For now, he will keep his suspicions to himself and secretly guide his friends away from trouble. With Jeff around, he knew the task would be extremely difficult.

Next to him Maria skipped over, glowing with her usual vitality, glomping the young Hardy with her infectious giggle. "Look who I caught, Philly! I believe someone still owes me a dance for my birthday," with a mocking gasp she pulled her hands from the young man, as if burned, "unless you forgot!"

Jeff caught her hand and gave her a twirl, smiling the whole time, "Oh Maria, how could I ever forget? Let me fulfill my debt. Look! We even have an audience!"

Guiding the red-head over to her boyfriend, Jeff made a show of bowing low in curtsey, asking in a smooth voice, "If monsieur Philly consents?"

"I'm sure he would, _but_," Like a hawk Matthew Hardy swooped down, grabbing his brother around his middle and tossing him on his shoulder, "we've wasted enough time as it is. We need to find a hotel before dark, especially for Michelle's sake." He strolled on, ignoring Jeff's moans of disappointment. "Maybe there we'll figure out exactly where we are. And where we should head out next."

"Ugh! More hours stuck between raging males. What's a guy like me to do?"

"Deal with it, Hardy." A hard smack to his bum told Jeff exactly who it was. "If it makes you feel any better, we'll change up the seat arrangements. You're riding with the us, for now," Dave saw John deflate at the news, and enjoyed his own little victory. He had nothing against the guy, but if anyone has any chance with Jeff, 'it sure as hell is me. I'll make sure of it.'

Cold, piercing green eyes shrouded by dark shades stalked the last car pulling into the road, a mustang, filled with hefty men, and…a woman? No, a boy. "Hmm…,'" The imposing man rumbled with peaked interest, long dark hair curling down his shoulders with his sinister aura. The sudden sound of a crash so far from the nearest city had sent his men on a frenzy, and his own curiosity compelled him to scout the area. What he found greatly pleased him: a handful of young blood and enough chickens to go around.

Heavy footsteps tipped off the arrival of another man, stopping just short of the tall, dark figure. This man was enormous, taller than his brooding leader by mere inches, and just as built. His icy blue eye chilled the air around him as he too surveyed the departing vehicles, silently waiting for orders.

"Gather the boys, Glen," the dark man's deep voice boomed, staring him down with wild eyes. " Looks like we've got ourselves some dinner."

His monstrous companion was only too eager to comply. Their last batch of meat didn't last nearly as long as they wanted, but this group…, well, Glen had high hopes for this new catch.


End file.
